


Revelations

by Lusciousinpain



Series: Hot Spies In Love [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bad ass castiel, Disturbing behaviour, Drugs, Dubious Consent, F/M, FBI, Fondlng, Groping, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Hurt Castiel, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Over use of the same references, Protective Dean, Revelations, Sex as a Weapon, Spies, Sucking off, but not really, dogs only doing as told, extreme violence, intended rape, mass killings, obscene behavior, people are bad, very bad parenting, vicious dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: He maneuvers the Impala as if she were an extension of his body - a beloved fifth limb - steers her effortlessly through town after town, tearing through gravel, cutting through lanes, swallowing mile after mile, not because he's running from the devil, but because he's speeding towards his angel, and Dean can't get to him fast enough.
Relationships: Amara/Gadreel, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Gabriel
Series: Hot Spies In Love [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/921855
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Here at last is the next installment of my beloved 'Hot Spies in Love' series.  
> There's some jumping between scenes, different hours of the day noted, lots of back and forth (especially in the beginning). Hope it's not too confusing.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> 😉

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He maneuvers the Impala as if she were an extension of his body - a beloved fifth limb - steers her effortlessly through town after town, tearing through gravel, cutting through lanes, swallowing mile after mile, not because he's running from the devil, but because he's speeding towards his angel, and Dean can't get to him fast enough.

It's 2am

The lawn is expansive, goes on for miles, an evergreen ocean in which Meg has no intention of drowning. But at least it's cool and damp underfoot, soothing and far more forgiving on her poor tattered bare feet, than running on concrete would have been.

Now if she could just outrun Crowley's damn dogs, and make it to the gate.

But it won't be easy, not with the blinding brilliance from the massive flood lights illuminating her progress. Or the painful shuffling her least injured foot allows her.

Nevertheless, Meg stumbles onward, spitting blood, shouting obscenities at the dogs, at fate, at her CIA contacts (those fuckers were supposed to swoop in and rescue her if she got into trouble) but especially at herself, and her own stupidity.

Meg seriously doubts she's escaping this place alive.

But maybe she will.

The adrenaline coursing through her veins fuels her well enough. It numbs the agony and gives her the courage to keep moving despite the growling hounds gaining on her, their gnashing teeth chomping at her heels.

'I'm gonna make it.' She tells herself, trudging clumsily down a gravel path, running and running as fast as she can, but then a tremendous force knocks off her feet, and Meg hits the ground.

"No!" Meg shouts, punching at her attackers. But she's so weak and she's lost so much blood, that she does zero damage.

"Stop!" She pleads, thrashing as the flesh is torn from her limbs, screaming as her bones crack-snap in two. But the hounds ignore her protests and instead lap greedily at the blood pooling in her open mouth, puddling in her open belly, and Meg gurgles, tries to swallow, tries to catch her breath, but she can't, because she's drowning. Blood gushes freely from the gashes in her throat, her chest, her arms, she's weeping wounds every where, all over, and it's hilarious, but it's also fucking tragic.

'So many regrets, so much wasted time.'

Meg knows she's dying, and it pisses her off. 

Now she'll never get the chance to confess that she's always admired Castiel, despite their opposing views on every damn thing. Or admit to Luke that when he betrayed her (with all of those women, especially with her own sister) that he broke her. But most soul crushing of all, is the sad fact that she'll never get the opportunity to tell her sister, Ruby, that she's forgiven her.

"Typical-" Meg snorts, the word spitting out wet and stinking of death. "Well-" she croaks, gazing up at her executioners. But then they pause, and their mountainous heads angle in confusion, and then Meg sees it, a deep uncertainty in their expressive eyes, a ripple of doubt in their impressive stance, because they're not bad dogs, per se, they're just following orders. If given a choice, Crowley's hounds would rather cuddle with Meg, than rip her head from her shoulders.

Meg sees all of that and smiles up at them (she was like them once too) and a serene numbness settles thickly over her, a sense of finality that is peaceful in its own depressing way.

"Good...good doggies." She smiles, and the hounds whimper, howl while she rubs at their long whiskers. But then their master shouts at them from behind, and they cower, and they whine, because they've got a job to do, a job to finish. So Meg keeps smiling though her tears fall freely, keeps reassuring them, telling them it's okay, to just get it over with, because she knows it's nothing personal, and that they're just doing what they're told.

Then she hears another shout, higher pitched and more insistent than Crowley's, and bares her throat, hisses, "Do it-" And then Meg knows, no more.

...

It's 8am

"Dean, slow down."

But Dean does not slow down, nor does he intend to.

Instead, he slams his foot on the pedal, and the car jumps to one hundred.

"Damn it, Dean!"

But Dean is not listening, because Dean is on a mission.

He maneuvers the Impala as if she were an extension of his body - a beloved fifth limb - steers her effortlessly through town after town, tearing through gravel, cutting through lanes, swallowing mile after mile, not because he's running from the devil, but because he's speeding towards his angel, and Dean can't get to him fast enough.

"We're no good to Castiel dead, Dean." Sam looks over at Gabriel, but Gabriel is staring at the road, eyes far away and glassy. "We're getting him back." Sam reassures, but Gabriel just sighs, he's been down this terrifying road before.

"Sure," he says, small and downcast, "but in what shape?"

It's a valid question, and Dean growls in reply, knuckles white against the black of the steering wheel. "Cas is fine." He snarls, tone cold, clipped, and final.

Neither Sam nor Gabriel, dare to argue back.

...

It's 7am

"Is our guest settled in?" Amara asks, sitting at Crowley's desk while studying detailed accounts of the Milton family's accumulated wealth.

"He's comfortable." Gadreel replies, standing in front of his mother with his hands clasped behind his back. "I made sure of it."

His answer makes Amara pause, and she looks up. "I'm sure you did." She smiles, well aware of her son's unfortunate infatuation with his cousin - a disturbing obsession she had hoped to derail with the passage time and distance. But looking at her son now, Amara can clearly see the opposite is true; Gadreel's crush has gained strength despite the number years that have kept him from Castiel.

'But that doesn't mean he wouldn't damage Castiel.'

"Did he give you any trouble?"

"None I couldn't handle."

"But did you hurt him." She stresses, terse and on edge, because she knows her son's propensity towards physical violence, especially when it comes to something he wants, but can't have. "Is Castiel...whole?" She rephrases, her anxiety threatening to get the best of her.

But Gadreel simply shrugs, careful to conceal the raging storm within. "I did have to sedate him." He admits, casual, bored. "But he is unharmed."

"He better be."

"You can go check for yourself if-"

"Oh," Amara warns, "I plan on it. Crowley," she calls out, and Crowley jumps in his seat.

"Y, yes." He replies, simpering, nerves frayed raw after dealing with Meg's death, then nearly getting his beloved hounds shot by Amara's henchmen when they sensed his trepidation.

"Have these ledgers crated and transferred to my estate." She instructs, adding with a derisive sneer, "I plan on combing through every single page with a fine tooth comb."

"Of course." Crowley swallows, but he squares his shoulders, chin up, because he won't be intimidated. "All the information you requested is there, in meticulous detail."

"Good." She says, closing the binder then placing her hands on its surface. "And have that animal doctor brought to my house. I want to make sure my nephew doesn't suffer any...adverse reactions to the sedative my son administered."

"Animal doctor?" Crowley asks, looking from Amara to Gadreel.

"The one that treats those useless hounds of yours." Amara exhales, impatient, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

"Dr. Benny Lafitte." Gadreel supplies, softer in tone, but just as menacing, just as terrifying. "He's the same one we use for the animals at our estate."

"Ah yes, Laffite," Crowley nods, having absolutely no idea to whom they are referring, "I'll have him sent over right away."

"You needn't bother." Gadreel tells his mother, insisting, "Castiel is fine."

"Forgive me if I don't trust your word." Amara answers back, cruel, yet matter of fact. "But I can't risk what happened with that stupid mercenary, to happen again-"

"April died without betraying us, mother. Show a little gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Amara rises to her feet, laughs, "That idiot couldn't follow simple instructions." She walks up to her son, tiny and delicate in frame, but nonetheless towering, foreboding. "You saw what happened when they caught her. How Michael retaliated." She jabs at Gadreel and he sneers at her, but holds his tongue. "She went too far and got what she deserved."

"Fine." He hisses, smooth facade cracking under his mother's scrutiny. "But Castiel is in my care this time. I'm watching over him. I'll take care-"

"Of course you will." Amara soothes, tone softening, sweeter, like honey, and a cold shiver races up Gadreel's spine. She reaches up and Gadreel leans forward, presses his cheek into his mother's open palm. "My boy..." She says softly, kissing Gadreel on the lips, and Gadreel kisses her back, heatedly, passionately, like a lover would.

And it's sick and depraved, selfish and cruel, but necessary, because with Castiel so close by, Amara needs to remind Gadreel that he belongs to her, and she belongs to him (it's them against the world) and she'll be damned if she lets anyone get between them.

"Never forget," she whispers against her son's cheek, pressing kisses against it's stubbled surface, "I'm the only one that loves you."

"I know." Gadreel whispers back, because he believes her, and Amara smiles in return, satisfied, for now.

"Castiel is just a tool." She reminds him, and Gadreel nods, entranced by her - like a serpent and its handler. "But an important one, and far too valuable to permanently damage. Do you understand?" She asks, and a cold dread sweeps over Gadreel, because he does understand, knows that once his mother has achieved her goals, Castiel's life will be forfeit.

"We need him whole," she smiles, "or at least lucid. Michael and Lucifer will never hand over control of the family empire, if all we have to trade for it...is a vegetable."

...

It's 11am

"She's a wiggly little thing." Dr. Benny Lafitte says to his assistant, chuckling while gently wrestling with the bear cub he's trying to vaccinate.

"That she is." The young intern giggles, struggling to hold the cub so Benny can give her a shot.

"I'll hold her down for you."

Both Benny and the young woman look up, but only Benny's heart drops.

"Dean." He says, and Dean smiles, but there's no warmth in his eyes, only steel, only grief, only anger, and Benny holds fast, arms around the cub. "Go tend to the next patient while I finish in here with my...friend." He tells the intern, and once she's gone, Benny turns back to Dean, and asks, "To what do I owe this honor?"

"I need information." Dean replies, tone harsh, threatening violence, but nevertheless takes his place beside the cub and pets her. "She's cute." He remarks, carding his fingers through soft plush fur, and Benny agrees.

"One of the perks of my job.' He smiles, and Dean smiles back. But this time it's sincere. "I thought I'd never see you again." Benny suddenly says, and Dean meets his eyes, regret etched across his brow.

"Yeah," Dean swallows, because what he did to Benny was shitty, "sorry about the way things ended." He bends at the waist in order to keep the cub from squirming, it's little whimpers and squeaks of protest melting his heart, and Benny reaches around, and their fingers brush.

"Guess you had your reasons." Benny exhales, valiantly resisting the overwhelming urge to take Dean in his arms and demand to know why he broke his heart. "Just try to keep her still." He says instead, painlessly administering the vaccine, then dabbing at the spot with a sterile swab. "See," he says sweetly, kissing the top of the cub's furry head, "that wasn't so bad."

"That was pretty cool." Dean says, and Benny nods, picks up the cub, and Dean helps him gently place her in a large carrier. "I need your help," Dean says again, and Benny grunts, hoists the carrier and walks it to the front counter.

"Yeah, I heard ya." Benny says, setting the carrier down, scratching the cub's cheek through the metal bars, then guiding Dean to his office. "What kind of Information do you need from me?" He asks, looking at Dean over his shoulder, opening his office door, then cursing out loud when he spots Sam sitting at his desk. "Mierde." He swears, and Sam frowns, lip curled back in an angry sneer; he didn't like Benny when he and his brother dated in college, and he definitely doesn't like him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE dogs!!! All of them. Every breed. I have two loving playful pitties myself; they are my deepest loves, my dearest hearts. And I believe deep down to my core, that ALL dogs are implicitly good. Even hell-hounds. In fact, dogs are so loyal, they'd go against their very nature to obey their owners' cruel whims. 
> 
> Like killing Meg. 
> 
> I hated using the hounds as a weapon. And I hope Remus and Romulus will find it in their generous hearts to forgive me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wait-" Castiel grits, but Gadreel shakes his head; he's done waiting. It's been decades of waiting, decades of needing and wanting, and if Castiel denies Gadreel again, Gadreel will take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted rape

It's 10pm

Castiel wakes slowly, eyes so gummy he can't get them to open properly. When he tries to move, it feels like his limbs are wading through molasses, like his head is stuffed with cotton, and he's thirsty. 

"Dean-" he croaks, but he can barely hear himself speak over the pounding in his head. He swallows, but it hurts, nevertheless he calls out again. "Dean!"

"There's no Dean here." Gadreel replies, and Castiel's eyes pop open. "Hello, cousin."

"Gadreel-" Castiel rasps, throat on fire, "what have you done?" But instead of replying, Gadreel places his hand on Castiel's bare chest and Castiel glowers, would automatically snap Gadreel's wrist if he had the strength. But he's so weak and his limbs are so heavy, it takes everything he's got to keep his eyes from slipping shut. "Gadreel..." He says instead, but Gadreel shushes him.

"Stay calm." Gadreel advises, dragging his hand towards Castiel's nipple, thumb rubbing at the dusky nub. "The drug's effects are almost out of your system." He's calm and civil, but his infuriatingly serene tone belies the lust in his eyes. "But," he warns, hand traveling towards Castiel's stomach, fingers toying with the sheet's edge, "you're still in danger of a stroke, or an embolism, if you over exert yourself. But don't worry," Gadreel adds, suddenly flinging the sheet off and exposing Castiel's nudity, "I'll do all of the work."

"Wait-" Castiel grits, but Gadreel shakes his head; he's done waiting. It's been decades of waiting, decades of needing and wanting, and if Castiel denies Gadreel again, Gadreel will take.

"No more waiting." Gadreel replies, voice gone low and husky with arousal. He swallows, places a hand on Castiel's ankle. "I have loved you," he confesses, heartbreakingly sincere, "my entire life. But you already knew that." Gadreel climbs onto the bed, slowly travels the long length of Castiel's body, marvels at the 'otherness' of his beauty, and swallows again. "But if only..." He starts, dropping his head into Castiel's neck, inhaling deeply, "if only you knew-"

"I feel the same way." Castiel blurts.

"You, you do?"

"I swear it." Castiel lies, because he knows it's what Gadreel has always wanted to hear, and he plans on using it to his advantage 

"Truly?" Gadreel asks, daring to hope, and Castiel nods, masks the pure loathing in his eyes with desire, and nods again.

"Truly." He promises. But how to prove it? 

_'Think of Dean.'_ Castiel tells himself, closing his eyes to shut out Gadreel, effortlessly conjuring Dean, and hopes his cock doesn't betray him.

_'Dean...'_ He thinks again, and then there's Dean, all shit-eating-grin and impossibly attractive.

_'Hey there, sweetheart.'_

Strong arms pull Castiel in for a filthy kiss, all tongue, all consuming, and Castiel exhales, basks in the hot press of Dean's lips on his mouth, on the wet slip-slide of his tongue, and grows hard. 

_'Mmm...'_ Dean moans, grabbing Castiel's ass and parting his cheeks. _'That pretty cock all for me?'_ He teases, probing and prodding between Castiel's crevice, then breaching his hole, pulsing three thick fingers in and out and in and out, and utterly owning Castiel.

_'Yes!'_ Castiel wants to shout back, but his lips part in a silent cry instead, and Dean takes him into his perfect mouth.

And it feels so good, and Dean is so fucking sexy - his mouth like heaven, his body Castiel's temple - that Castiel could cum just from this: Dean sucking while thrusting, pumping Castiel's cock (fist slick and sloppy with spit), and with Castiel only needing to recall every touch, every taste, every-

Gadreel gasps and Castiel's eyes open. "You're aroused." He says, awe in his tone.

_'Don't flatter yourself.'_ Castiel wants to reply, but he manages to part his legs instead (a monumental effort) and licks his lips, careful to keep up this ridiculous charade until his limbs have fully woken.

"You know," Gadreel whispers, body bent over Castiel, their lips a breath away, "I knew you'd forget all about that...agent, once I got you alone." He drops a kiss atop Castiel's mouth, licks at the seam. "I knew you were just using him. That you'd never partner with someone so...pathetic. A weak fool that even Alistair pitied. In fact," Gadreel says, lifting one hand off the bed to wander freely over Castiel's body, "Alistair told me he only _fucked_ Winchester, because the slut kept begging-"

And that does it. 

Adrenaline floods Castiel and he head-butts Gadreel, stunning him, knocking the psychopath off the bed, and Castiel struggles to sit up.

"Just like old times." Gadreel calls out, tone dripping with disappoint. He grabs onto the bed's edge and climbs to his feet, wipes at his nose, then stares at the blood on his fingertips. "And after everything I've done for you." He adds with a blank expression, but his voice is small and his eyes grow wide, as if wounded.

"What exactly have you done?" Castiel demands to know, still bed ridden, still feeble, but he keeps flexing his hands, his limbs, contracting every muscle, holding it for a count of three, then relaxing, over and over, forcing his body to come back to life.

Gadreel regards Castiel, considers answering honestly, but then he starts unbuttoning his shirt and shrugs out of it. "Did you really think you defeated Aazael all by yourself?" 

It's the last thing Castiel expected to hear, and it throws him off balance, leaves him speechless. 

"Or that Michael would have found you if _I_ hadn't given him your location."

"Michael?" 

"And that's just two examples." Gadreel states, hand palming at his own erection. "That's twice that I've intervened on your behalf." Gadreel undoes his belt buckle, pulls down his zipper, and a cold nausea sweeps through Castiel. "I think it's time you showed me a little gratitude."

"Don't." Castiel warns, but it's a hollow threat; his body is still immobile, still useless. 

"Don't?" Gadreel parrots, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his pants. "How can you be so ungrateful, cousin? Especially after everything I've done for this family."

"You're right." Castiel nods, stalling for time. "I am grateful. We all are. Michael and Lucifer-"

"Are in prison." Gadreel scoffs, pointing out, "they're just puppets for the FBI now. Much like you were. But you can redeem yourself, cousin. Join me, and together we can rebuild our family. Set it on the right track. Guide it back to her glory days-"

"I will!" Castiel swears, heart galloping, body thrumming, on the verge of waking, but it may be too late. "I'll join you."

"I don't believe you." Gadreel says, but he's so aroused he's panting, flushed from cheeks to chest. "However..." he adds, resting his open palm on the flat planes of Castiel's stomach, "you need do only _one_ thing for me, and I'll be convinced."

"No-" 

"Yes." 

"Gadreel, don't. What you're doing is wrong-"

"Then why does it feel so right?" Gadreel mocks, eyes raking over Castiel, then burying his hand between Castiel's thighs. 

"Don't." Castiel warns, revolted, furious, but his body buzzes with sudden power, and he hopes, and he prays, because this is it, he's run out of time, and he needs to act fast. "Gadreel, stop." 

But Gadreel doesn't stop, he's hopelessly lost to his baser urges now, and is _not_ thinking clearly. 

"Relax..." He says in reply, wrapping his fingers around Castiel's cock, and Castiel panics.

"'I'll kill you for this." Castiel threatens, voice like thunder. But Gadreel is too far gone to heed his warnings, too 'in-lust' to stop himself now that he's finally going to get what he's always wanted.

"Nothing you can do will stop this." Gadreel states, and it's a fact, with the dosage of Carfentanil he administered earlier, Castiel will be physically incapacitated for the next several hours. "But I promise," he swallows, thumb rubbing gently over Castiel's cock-head, "you _will_ enjoy this." 

"Yes, I will." Castiel spits, right leg swinging out, knee connecting with Gadreel's chest, and Gadreel flies back, hits his head against the bedpost, and falls, unconscious, to the ground. This time Castiel makes it to his feet, but his movements are unsteady and his head is woozy. Nevertheless, he pulls on Gadreel's discarded pants, staggers towards the door, but then-

"Nephew."

Amara is suddenly there, all teeth and brimming with delight. "What have we got here?" She asks, surveying the scene. "Well," she laughs, crouching over her naked son, "looks like some things never change."

...

"Is this some kind of ambush?" Benny demands to know.

"You remember my brother." Dean says, shooting Sam a warning glare.

"In chilling detail." 

"And this," Dean adds, pointing at Gabriel, "is Gabriel Milton-"

"Milton." Benny repeats, trying to put on a brave face in front of the notorious murderer; being in Gabriel's presence is like being doused in freezing water, and Benny shivers.

"That's right," Gabriel snarls, grabbing Benny by the shirt front and shaking him. "I'm a Milton. And I'm here because _you_ sold elephant sedative to some very bad people."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Benny barks back, struggling in Gabriel's grasp.

"Benny-" Dean steps between the two men, tries to pry Gabriel's fists open, but it's not easy, it's tough as hell in fact, and for a split second, Dean stupidly wonders what the hell momma Milton fed her boys, "what Gabriel means to say is, that someone very close to me...someone I love," he stresses, because it's the absolute truth, "got hit with a dose of Carfentanil."

Benny's brows shoots up. "Carfentanil?" He repeats, rubbing at his beard, at his neck. "Dean, if your friend was given that drug," he shakes his head, lips pursed, "then they're...they're already dead."

"No he's not." Dean snaps, because Castiel can't be. Dean pulls out the syringe vial Gadreel left behind, and Benny takes it, examines the color of the liquid, sniffs at it, then carefully puts it down. 

"It's been watered down." Benny concedes and Dean exhales a breath he was holding. "So it's not as potent. But if your friend's immune system is at all compromised, or if he has a heart condition, or poor liver function-"

"Cas is in perfect health." Dean blurts, and Benny's jaw drops. 

"Cas? As in, Castiel Milton?" 

"Yes!" Gabriel shouts, and the room quakes - in the waiting room a terrified dog howls. "My brother might be dying because you sold that shit to our enemies!" 

Gabriel rushes towards Benny again, but this time Dean blocks him. "Cool your jets, Gabe!" He pushes Gabriel back and Gabriel glares at Dean. But then Sam is by Gabriel's side, takes him by the elbow, and steers him towards the door. "We need to find out who Benny gave those drugs to." Dean tells them, looking from Sam to Gabriel. "And, we need know what to give Cas to counter the effects."

"Dean, I swear, I didn't give those drugs to anyone." Benny looks at Gabriel, says, "Look, I'm sorry your brother is in danger, but I _don't_ sell my drugs. They're for my patients, not for people-"

"Then how did Crowley get his hands on it?" Sam challenges, convinced Benny is lying. 

"Now you're bringing up Crowley? Dean," Benny spins on Dean, eyes wide, but not with fear, just confusion, "what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" He glances at Gabriel, drops his voice, "Those people are dangers."

"Then why do you deal with them?" Dean counters, and Benny curses, walks to a metal cabinet, pulls out a file, and hands it to Sam. 

"I treat his dogs." Benny states, and Sam scans the pages. 

"Remus and Romulus?" 

"Yeah," Benny nods, "they're his wolf-mastiffs. Sweet dogs-"

"Why would you need Carfentanil for large dogs?"

"I wouldn't." Benny says, shaking his head, "it would kill them."

"Then why have access to it?" 

"Because I need it for my larger patients." Benny pulls out another folder, this one heavier, thicker than Crowley's, and Sam snatches it from his hand.

"Two tigers." Sam reads, then starts counting off, "Four wolves, two lemurs, eight vultures...really?" 

Benny nods. "They're awesome birds, by the way." He points to the folder, adds, "This particular client also has a couple of monkeys, a pair of zebras, a few horses, dogs, cats-"

"Okay, okay." Dean takes the folder from Sam, turns to the cover and reads the name on file. "Who the hell is, A.M.C?"

Benny shrugs. "I've never met the owner, heard the staff say she mostly lives overseas."

"She?" 

Another nod from Benny, and the mystery deepens. "But I have met her son a few times. Quiet fella, polite, and very curious. Always asks me a bunch of questions about what I'm doing. About the different animals I treat and their conditions."

"Did he ever ask about Carfentanil?" Dean asks, and Benny's eyes narrow. "About its uses, the dosages?" 

"Yes." Benny replies, and Dean grins, because they're finally getting somewhere. 

"You take your doctor bag with you on these house calls?" Sam asks, picking up where Dean left off, and Benny nods again.

"And you carry Carfentanil in your bag?" 

Another nod, and they finally have a name and an address, for their mysterious third player.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nephew," she whispers back, soft, disarming, and Castiel drops her hand, "how handsome you've grown." She tells him, reaching up to caress his cheek, then pulling him in for a proper hug. "Hm," she hums, melding their bodies, "no wonder Gadreel couldn't resist you."

Amara pulls a fine robe from an overly ornate armoire and hands it to Gadreel. "Cover yourself." She smiles at him, but her eyes are cold, calculating, and Gadreel puts it on, movements steady, fluid, despite knowing his punishment will be swift and cruel for having betrayed his mother.

But he knows he deserves it. Whatever the price he has to pay, he'll pay it. Because what he did - what he was about to do to - is unforgivable.

"Wait for me in your room." Amara tells him, and Gadreel nods, but shame makes him pause.

_'I should apologize.'_ He thinks, because he never meant to hurt Castiel, can't understand how he lost control in the first place. 

"Gadreel-" his mother snaps, and Gadreel looks up, but his eyes land on Castiel.

His cousin looks angry, confused, but also hot as fuck: hair a tousled mess, chest bare, rising and falling, a hypnotic rhythm, and wearing _Gadreel's_ pants. But they're big on Castiel, ride low on his hips, show off the sharp peaks of his hip bones, expose a faint treasure trail towards his cock, and Gadreel _knows_ he'd do it all over again.

He'll never stop wanting Castiel.

"Leave." Amara says, sharp and final. 

But Gadreel does not leave. He defies his mother instead, and glares at her. 

“Now.” Amara says softly, eyes unblinking, and Gadreel cows beneath her gaze. Shoulders slumped, he finally obeys and leaves through a side door, the same one that connects his private sleeping quarters with Castiel's room.

A second ticks by, then two, and Castiel tries to get his breathing under control; his body is still recovering from the drug's effects, and Gadreel's attack did him no favors. It greatly winded him, in fact, but finding out his aunt Amara is alive and that his father lied to them all about her death, has made him mute. 

"Castiel..." Amara says, cautious, curious, reaching towards him, but Castiel grabs her by the wrist, and finds his voice.

"Aunt-" he says, the word barely above a whisper, but Amara hears him and leans in.

"Nephew," she whispers back, soft, disarming, and Castiel drops her hand, "how handsome you've grown." She tells him, reaching up to caress his cheek, then pulling him in for a proper hug. "Hm," she hums, melding their bodies, "no wonder Gadreel couldn't resist you."

"He was about to rape me." Castiel growls, pushing her off, and Amara laughs.

"Don't be so dramatic." She chides, looking him over as if searching for injuries. "Besides," she reasons, tone dripping with contempt, "nothing happened. But trust me," she smiles, "you would have enjoyed it, if it had. Gadreel is a very proficient lover, if a bit mechanical." 

"What?"

"Although," she adds, taking on a more reflective tone, "I have a feeling that with _you_ , my son's sexual ministrations would have been driven by love, rather than fear."

"You're insane." 

Amara laughs again, bright and airy. "Perhaps I am." She agrees, delighted. "And perhaps you're perfectly fine." 

But Castiel is not fine, far from it, in fact. "I-" he gags, staggers, then reels before dropping to his knees and vomiting. It's viscous, it's bile, but only because his body has already digested the previous night's heavy meal; luckily for Castiel, Sam's pasta, and especially the two slices of pie Dean insisted he eat, dramatically curtailed the drug's worst effects. 

"Or perhaps not..." Amara says, wetting a towel in the ensuite, then crouching by Castiel. She dabs at his brow, wipes at his mouth. "I called for a doctor." She tells him, handing Castiel a glass of water. "He'll help you feel better."

"What did Gadreel give me?’

"Something...powerful."

Castiel drinks, crawls back to the bed, pulls himself up, and sits on the edge: body slumped, chest heaving, though he does feel better, but he can't let Amara know. "Why?’ he pants, "why drug me?"

"How else was he supposed to get you to come home?" Amara asks, sitting beside him, resting her hand on his thigh, and Castiel allows it, because he needs answers.

"Home?" Castiel repeats, brow crinkling, because it sounds familiar. But his mind is so foggy and his body is still so sluggish (eerily the same as when April kidnapped him) that he finds it hard to recall when, and where, he's heard it before. 

"Home," Amara soothes, caressing the furrow from Cartel's brow, " _this_ is your home, now."

"No, it's not." Castiel counters, finally recalling when he'd argued this last: with Gadreel, in the kitchen, while preparing coffee for... 

"What have you done with Dean?" Castiel demands to know, memories flooding back.

"Dean?" Amara scoffs. "Didn't Gadreel tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Castiel asks, grabbing Amara by the arms and hauling her to her feet.

"Oh, you poor-"

"Tell me." Castiel shouts, twisting her arm, and Amara grunts from the sudden pain. "Another inch, and I'll beak it." He warns, and Amara moans, but the sound is laced with pleasure, and it disgusts Castiel. Nevertheless he tightens his grip, the force nearly wrenches her arm from its socket, and this time, Amara cries out.

Several armed men suddenly storm through the door, and immediately point their guns at Castiel.

"Careful," Amara gasps, agony stealing the breath from her lungs, "or my guards will think you're trying to hurt me." 

Castiel holds his ground, but weighs his options. He could use Amara as a shield, kill the guards, and make his escape. Or stay and find out what she wants. But what if what she wants is Dean? What if she decides to go after Dean if he doesn't cooperate? No, Castiel can't risk leaving without finding out everything he can.

"What do you want from me?" He asks, releasing Amara and she collapses on the bed. "And where is Dean?"

"Where do I start?" 

"Start with Dean."

"You're serious?" Amara asks, but it's not a question, it's more confused irritation at Castiel for his inexplicable devotion to a federal agent. "How disappointing." She sighs, walking back to the armoire, taking out a cloth bag, and tossing it to Castiel. 

"What's this?" He asks, gauging the weight, turning it this way and that, opening the string ties, and pulling out a gun. "I don't understand." 

"Look closer." 

Curious, Castiel examines the weapon (an FBI standard issue) but sees nothing overtly remarkable about it. Perhaps it's a little weightier than the requisite model, and the grip smoother, apparently modified with a deceptively delicate layer of 'mother of pearl' (like that on a colt firearm) instead of the more common steel, but apart from that, typical.

Yet, there is something familiar about it, like deja vu. But the more he studies it, the more difficult it becomes to pinpoint exactly where he's seen this particular gun before. So Castiel closes his eyes, inhales a deep breath, holds it, then with an exhaled whoosh of air, he remembers. 

"No..." He gasps, heart stuttering, breath catching, because it can't be.

"Gadreel brought it to me as a trophy." Amara tells him, smile small, but smug. "Plucked it out of Dean Winchester's hand, right before he disposed of the corpse.

"You're lying." Castiel hisses, fists clenched, teeth gritted, and Amara huffs, rolls her eyes, and Castiel loses it. He charges at her, grabs her by the throat, but not before she screams for her guards.

...

"I just can't believe it." Benny says, scratching at his beard. "This guy, Mr. C-"

"What does the C stand for?"

"They never said." Benny shrugs, "And I never asked. But he's..." Benny takes a moment, searches for the right word, "is a pretty nice guy." He shrugs again, adds, "Okay, maybe he's a little...wooden-"

"What the hell does that mean?" 

"He's like a robot, stiff, polite, but a nice guy too, and definitely _not_ a Milton. No offense." Benny directs that last bit at Gabriel, and Gabriel whistles.

"None taken." Gabriel grins, wagging his finger. "But one more disparaging crack about my family, and I'm going to use your intestines as the world's ugliest pair of suspenders-"

"Cut it out, Gabe." Dean hands Benny back his file, and Benny puts it away. "You gotta get us into that house." Dean insists, adding with an uncharacteristic desperation that really worries Benny, "And you got it all wrong about the Miltons."

But Benny knows he's not wrong. "Maybe you're the one that's got it all wrong." 

"I warned you." Gabriel grits, charging at Benny, knocking him off his feet, and Dean scrambles to get between them. 

"Back off-" Dean tells Gabriel, reaching for Benny, but then the secretary runs in.

She skids to a stop just past the open door, eyes bulging, mouth gaping, horrified. "Dr. Lafitte!" She cries out, clutching at her chest. "Should I call the police?"

"No!" All four men shout, and she stumbles back.

"But you're-"

"I'm fine, Andrea, just rough housing with my friends." Benny offers her a smile, and with Dean's help, gets back up. But Andrea doesn't seem convinced. "Is there anything else?" He asks her, dismissive, but not unkind.

"No." She replies, but she doesn't leave. She stands there for a long beat instead, and sizes each man up - gaze so intense all four men drop their eyes. "I'll be right outside if you need me." She tells Benny, features softening when she looks his way.

Benny swallows, smiles in return; he knows his secretary is in love with him, and wishes he could love her right back. But he doesn't. He loves men, and unfortunately, none more than Dean Winchester.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." Andrea suddenly adds, handing Benny a 'post-it'. "They said it's urgent." 

Benny reads the note, then curses under his breath.

"What is it?" Dean asks, and Benny laughs. 

"Looks like you got your wish." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Dean is dead.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dubious consent

Amara's guards charge through the door, aim at Castiel, and Amara chokes, scratches futilely in Castiel's grip. 

"Stop!" She screeches at her men, but also to Castiel. She swallows, feels the tendons in her neck grind under Castiel's pressure, and rasps, "There's still the other Winchester." 

"What about Sam?" Castiel hisses, squeezing, squeezing, eager to crush the life from her, but stopping just short of that; if Sam's safety is indeed in her hands, it's best he play along, at least until he's sure Sam is well out of her reach. "Answer me." He growls, shaking her, then throwing her so hard, she tumbles off the bed. 

Amara hits the carpeted floor with a loud thump, and suddenly Gadreel is there. "Mother!" He cries out, rushing to her side, but the side door he burst through stays ajar for a beat, then clicks shut, and Castiel makes note of it.

"Took you long enough-" Amara laughs, a breathless wheeze, but Gadreel ignores the jab, and instead, dismisses her guards. 

"What happened?" He asks her after they've left, checking her over, but seeing no great damage.

"Gadreel," Castiel shouts, chest heaving, seething with a murderous rage for the man that killed his love, "I will kill you with my own hands." He promises, and Gadreel nods, it's what he expected, it's what he deserves. 

"Do what you must." Gadreel replies, face a stoic mask, but his heart feels like it's breaking. "But know," he stresses, eyes locked with Castiel's, "that I did it for you. _Everything_ I did was for-"

But Castiel is beyond caring. 

"How did you do it?" Castiel asks instead, because it's all he cares to know. 

"I broke his neck." Gadreel replies, brutally honest, and Castiel dies a little more inside. But he also grows angrier, deadlier, and Gadreel dares to take a step towards him. "It was quick." He assures Castiel, as if that could make it better. "Dean didn't suffer."

 _'But _I_ am suffering!'_ Castiel wants to scream. But he doesn't, because it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore; without Dean, it's all so meaningless. 

_'Dean is dead.'_

"I can see you're upset, but you shouldn't be." Gadreel reaches out, but then wisely drops his arm. "You deserve so much better." He tells Castiel, and Castiel's eyes grow glassy. 

_'Dean is dead.'_

"Dean was better." Castiel responds sadly, grief so profound, so bone deep, he can actually taste tears when he swallows. "He was the best person I knew."

"You're wrong." Gadreel says, inching closer. "Winchester was using you. He never loved you. Not really. Not, not like-"

"Not like Gadreel." Amara cuts in, and Gadreel spins on her, grabs her by the back of the neck, and hisses something Castiel can't clearly make out.

"Your cousin deserves to know all that you've sacrificed for him." She argues right back, patting Gadreel on the cheek, and Castiel scowls, disgusted by the pair.

"I know exactly what Gadreel claims to have done for me." Castiel snaps at them, edging towards the side door - the same one that joins his room with Gadreel's. "He helped me against Azazel." 

Castiel presses his body against the door, feels the knob dig into his spine, then sways, staggers, and with his shoulders slouched and his head bowed, he's the very image of an ailing man about to collapse; but it's a ruse, Castiel's strength is almost fully returned, and his reflexes, sharp as ever. 

Or so he thinks. 

"Gadreel, also alerted my brothers to where my kidnapper was holding me." Castiel adds weakly, and Amara's brows shoot up. 

"Did he now?" She turns a disapproving eye on Gadreel, then smiles, but Gadreel knows she's furious, knows he shouldn't have divulged so much without her permission. "Is that everything?" 

"There's more?" Castiel asks, hand behind his back, fingers curled around the knob.

"Oh," Amara smiles back, then nods to her son, "so much more. Gadreel," she smirks, and Gadreel tenses, braces for the worst, "why don't you tell your cousin how _you knew_ where to find Azazel?" 

"Mother-" Gadreel begs, shame setting his pale cheeks aflame. "Pease don't."

But Amara just laughs at him. "Don't be stupid." She chastises, adding, "I bet you didn't tell Castiel how you knew where April was holding him, either." 

"April?" Castiel repeats, and Amara's smile widens. "How do you know her name?" He asks, but he's already figured it out, it's the same reason his family was never able to discover the source of his kidnapping. "Because you hired her." 

"Well done." Amara applauds, teasing, "And all this time, I thought Lucifer was the clever one." 

Castiel doesn't respond to the taunt, nor does he react to Amara's revelation. He simply scowls at her while carefully twisting the knob, then almost crying out when he feels it open. 

"That doesn't shock you?" Amara asks, unaware Castiel has found an unguarded escape route. "Well, what if I told you that _I_ was the one that turned the other families against your father."

"Of course you did." Castiel huffs, as if not surprised by her confession. But his heart thumps thickly, because it is a shock. "You were always jealous of father."

"Jealous?" Amara squawks, insulted, enraged, and Castiel nods.

"It's what he always told us." Castiel taunts, but he pushes too far, and Amara turns to leave. "Truth too difficult to hear?" He calls after her, feigning dizziness, then swooning, a dramatic buckling of his knees that immediately has Gadreel by his side (holding him, righting him, just like Castiel knew he would) and Amara turns back.

"Charles was a lier." Amara shouts, a high pitched screeching that brings the guards back in. "Get out!" She screams at them, and they quickly exit. "Charles was a coward," she resumes, wringing her hands, digging manicured tips into her palms, "brought nothing but shame to our family. Nearly destroyed it-"

"Funny," Castiel scoffs, pushing and pushing Amara, "that's the same thing he said about you." He wraps an arm around Gadreel, and Gadreel helps him to the bed, props pillows behind Castiel's back, then settles beside him, basks in Castiel's nearness, and Amara drinks in the sight. 

"You're mocking me." She neatly states, terrifyingly composed now, and Castiel can't help but marvel at the eerie transformation. "You know your father was no angel." She says, taking a seat. "He was cruel and unfair." She crosses one leg over the other, exposes the smooth skin of her thigh, and Gadreel ogles, yet presses closer to Castiel. "Did Charles also tell you he disowned me? That he cut me off and discarded me like so much trash?"

"He did." Castiel replies, and it's true; Charles Milton made sure his children knew all about their dangerous aunt, and the various reasons he decided it was best he distance himself (and his children) from her. "He also told us you were a fanatic." Castiel says, leaning heavily against Gadreel. "That you wanted to annihilate our competitors, our enemies, no matter who they were, no matter what the cost-"

"It's the only way to secure our place in the hierarchy." Amara cuts in, shrugging, "Charles knew that, but he was too scared and weak, useless, he didn't have the stomach for the decisions that needed to be made-" 

"But you did." Castiel snorts, and Amara nods. "Is that also why you killed your husband?" 

A sharp intake of breath from Amara, a thick swallow from Gadreel. "Cain..." Amara says, tone tight, eyes darting to Gadreel for support, but he's not looking at her, he has his face buried in the warm hollow of Castiel's neck instead, and Amara frowns. "Cain had his uses." She says, arms crossed tightly around her middle. "And then..." She shrugs, "he didn't." 

"He was a good man." Castiel counters, cupping Gadreel's jaw. "He was hard, cold, but decent. And you killed him because he refused to help you in your twisted crusade. Because he didn't want to hurt innocent people-"

"No," Amara corrects, voice rising, composure cracking again, "not innocent. No one is innocent. He was unworthy, base, dangerous-"

"And how exactly was Mary Winchester dangerous?" Castiel challenges, voice booming, terrifying to behold, but Gadreel thrills nonetheless, and he presses even closer.

"She was an unfortunate accident." Gadreel rushes to explain, desperate to pacify his god. 

But Castiel won't be placated. 

"I wasn't talking to you." He growls back, pushing Gadreel off, but Gadreel clings, and holds on tight.

"Please...." Gadreel whispers, and Castiel frowns, but he wraps one arm around Gadreel's waist, drags it to his hip, past Gadreel's thigh, and Gadreel pivots, drops his thighs open, and his erection bulges through his pants. 

"You want to know why we killed Mary Winchester?" Amara smiles, saccharine sweet and ugly.

"Yes." Castiel nods, eyes locked on Amara while carding his fingers through Gadreel's hair.

"Your _dead_ lover's mother?" 

Castiel swallows, slumps heavily against Gadreel, and Gadreel holds him up, holds him tight, and Amara snarls. But that's exactly what Castiel wants. "Enlighten me." He rasps, stomach turning sour as Gadreel's hands wander freely over his chest, stomach, over his groin; it's ridiculous and obscene, and as Amara licks her lips (she too is growing aroused) Castiel keeps up the ruse, at least until she's within arm's reach, then he can kill them both without alarming the guards.

"Bad luck." Amara snips. "Wrong place at the wrong time-"

"Was Michael also at the wrong place at the wrong time?" Castiel snaps, fury making him even more magnificent. "Is that why you tried to kill him? He was just a boy! An innocent child!" 

"Innocent?" Amara laughs, an ugly squawk, then stands. "Maybe he was, but for how long? Charles was grooming him to take over. I couldn't allow that. Michael had to go-"

"And you wonder why father disowned you." Castiel snorts, goading, taunting, and Amara inches closer.

"Your father was a clever fool." She replies softly, seductively, reaching under her skirt, and peeling off her panties. "He seized control of the family business as soon as mother and father were in the grave." 

Amara inches closer, and if Castiel wanted, he could snap Gadreel's neck, lunge at her, and kill her before she even knew what was happening. But she's still talking, still confessing, and there's still so much more Castiel wants to know. 

"What happened then?" Castiel asks, eyes brimming with desire, face full of intent, and Amara shakes with excitement. 

She climbs onto the bed, crawls towards him. "I asked Charles why." She replies, tucking tightly between both men, small hand resting on Castiel's stomach. "Asked him how he could do that to me." Amara drags a finger towards Castiel's nipple, tweaks it, and Castiel hums, parts his lips, licks them glossy wet, and Amara rears, presses damp kisses against their plushness. "They were my parents too." She pouts, cupping her son's jaw and pulling him in to kiss as well. "I had as much right to lead the family, as he did."

"But he wouldn't allow it?" 

Amara gets on all fours, rubs her cheek against Castiel's bare shoulder. "No." She murmurs, dropping a kiss onto Castiel's nipple. "Charles never did give me a reasonable explanation as to why he wouldn't." She laps and sucks on the hardened peak, reaches for her son's erection, strokes Gadreel through his pants, and Castiel's fingers coil, and his hands clench - like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

"But then..." Amara exhales, hiking her skirt with a free hand, a slow sensual drag of silk up her thigh, "...then..." She sighs, placing her other hand atop Gadreel's, guiding it between Castiel's thighs, and their fingers tangle, and their fingers curl, wrap around Castiel's cock, and caress him. And with her bare ass high in the air, and Gadreel's dick fully exposed - his own fist stroking, stroking, stroking, milking bead after bead of pre-come from the tip - Amara nips at Castiel's ear, and whispers, "and then...I killed your father."

Castiel sucks in a breath, and feels Amara's lips spread into a cruel smile. "It was you-"

"Yes." Amara nods and Castiel grabs her, wraps an arm around her waist, draws her close, tips his head towards her's, and then he sees it, a glint of silver in her hand, a finely honed blade ready to kill, and he head-butts her, breaks her nose, snaps her spine in two, and she tumbles, bloody and broken, to the floor. 

"Mother-" Gadreel gasps, arm shooting out to help Amara. But lust has made him sluggish, slow and stupid, and before his fogged over brain can react to the threat, Castiel twists his neck viscously, and Gadreel falls back, eyes open, face empty, dead to this world.

Luckily, the brief commotion didn't alert the guards, and for that, Castiel is grateful. But nevertheless he wishes he could cry out his victory, or at the very least deposit Gadreel's corpse on top of Dean's grave.

_'Dean is dead.'_

Castiel bites back a sob and pushes past the overwhelming urge to just curl up and mourn. His grief is so intense, it's threatening to consume him. But now is not the time to fall apart. That's for later (without Dean, he'll have an entire lifetime of grieving) but not until he's finished; he still has Amara with which to contend, and he plans on drawing out her agony. 

"Hello?" 

A knock on the door and Castiel holds his breath. He stills, hears muffled voices coming from the other side, and knows he's run out if time. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Castiel springs from the bed and scans the floor for Amara's blade. He spots it buried in her thigh, puts a finger to his lips, warns her to be silent, then yanks it out. But Amara only gurgles, coughs up blood, because she's already dead from the waist down, and Castiel can't help but feel a viscous satisfaction in her misery.

Another tap, tap, tap, on the door, and Castiel whips around. 

"It's Fergus. Fergus Crowley." 

_'Crowley.'_ A wide smile spreads across Castiel's handsome face and something like cold 'satisfaction' settles thickly over him; apparently Amara won't be the only one he'll be skinning alive tonight.

Blade in hand, Castiel creeps silently towards the door.

"The doctor you wanted," Crowley calls out, still tapping on the door, "is here...with, with me."

Castiel stops beside the closed door, body pressed flat against the wall, and with Amara's knife in his hand, answers, "Come in." 

And his tone is calm and his voice is steady, because he's not scared and he's not worried. Castiel knows Crowley will spot the bodies as soon as he enters. But it won't matter, because after Castiel kills him, he will stab Amara in the heart, then either escape, or die trying.

...

It's midnight

"Wow," Gabriel whistles, "that was easy." 

"Gabe," Sam hisses from across the room, body bent over a long row of monitors, "keep it down." 

After Benny agreed to help them get inside the manor (and then gave them a rough layout of the house and the grounds) Dean, Sam, and Gabriel, raced to the house's security room, knocked out the guards on duty (there were only two) then immediately started scanning the screens for any signs of Castiel. 

"See anything?" Dean asks, back facing Sam while he searches the monitors on his side of the room. 

"No." Sam replies. "There must me at least hundred rooms in this place. Give me a minute, oh," he says, and Dean rushes to his side, "I see him."

"You found Cas?" Dean asks, nudging Sam over, but there's no sign of him. "Great." Dean huffs, griping, "You found Benny and the goons that let him in. Congratulations." He smacks Sam on the head and walks back to his station. "Let's get back to looking for Cas, capiche?" 

"Dean..." Sam exhales, nerves at a fever pitch. "They're _taking_ Benny to Castiel. We just have to keep an eye on Benny and-"

"You gotta be kidding me!" 

Both Dean and Sam turn to look at Gabriel, then rush over to see what he's laughing about.

"You guys are never going to believe who I just spotted in the freaking library."

"Is that who I think it is?" Sam asks, and Gabriel nods, rests his hand on Sam's shoulder. 

"Yup." Gabriel says, adding with a flourish, "I present to you, the one and only, 'King of the Damned', Fergus Crowley." 

"Perfect." Dean sneers. "Looks like we're gonna bag us a bonus baddie tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bloody-hell!" He snaps back, defiant despite the bloody spittle dripping from his torn lip. Crowley spits, clears his throat. "Alright," he sneers, aiming a smug smile at Gabriel, "I'll take you to him, but" he warns, teeth a bloody mess, "you're not going to like what you'll find."

To say the Cain mansion is impressive, would be a massive understatement. From its over one hundred rooms, acres and acres of lush landscaping, and a staff that numbers in the hundreds, it's splendor is unparalleled, and Crowley marvels at the amount of money needed to fuel this level of opulence.

"Bullocks." He scoffs, turning his back on the pleasantly burning fire in the library's intricately carved floor to ceiling hearth, in favor of pouring himself a shot of whiskey from the bar tucked in the room's corner.

It's been a long and grueling twenty-four hours since Amara came back into town. And the whole 'Meg-as-CiIA-operative' fiasco has him feeling out of sorts. 

"Mother was right." He mutters under his breath, downing another shot, wincing at the burn, then taking another. He's pleasantly numb by the fifth shot, but not drunk enough to erase the morning's horrific events, or drown out Meg's blood-curdling screams.

Crowley shivers, checks his watch, and wonders when the hell that bloody doctor will arrive; escorting Dr. Lafitte to Castiel's room is his last duty of the night, and Crowley is more than eager to get it done and over with, so he and his beloved hounds can leave this nightmare, far behind. 

Drink in hand, Crowley walks around the room, examines rows of classics, shelves of priceless antiques, and finally a wall stocked with, of all things, erotic paperbacks. "Pathetic." He chuckles, extracting one from its slot, then barking a laugh when a secret door slides open. "How wonderfully cliche." He exclaims, setting his drink down, peeking inside for a light switch, then yelping when he's yanked inside.

"What the blazes!" He cries out, arms pinwheeling when a fist connects with his nose, teeth clanking when he hits the ground. "I'll have your hide!" He promises, swiping at the blood pouring from both nostrils. "I'll feed you to my-"

"Hello, Fergus."

Gabriel bounces from the hidden passage, steps aside, and then a very angry Sam, joins him. "Sam Winchester," he announces, bowing to his love, "this simpering bit of filth, is none other than Fergus Crowley, the king of the damned, the lord of lies, and the man responsible for our parents' death.

...

Despite the fact that all of the manor's corridors are monitored, the bedrooms and lavatories, are not. That leaves, according Dean's math, thirty to forty rooms where they could be keeping Castiel. Those odds are bad, but making matters worse, is the fact that most rooms have at least one or two guards stationed outside their closed doors. 

'Sonofabitch!" Dean curses, slamming his fist on the counter, desperate to find Castiel, but powerless to do anything about it. He exhales, checks to see if Sam and Gabriel have reached the library (not yet) then checks on Benny. "No-" he gasps, watching in horror as two armed guards lead Benny straight towards the library, instead of escorting him to wherever the hell they're keeping Castiel.

This is not good.

If Sam and Gabriel are discovered, and if Benny isn't being taken to Castiel, then their whole plan is in jeopardy. 

It's time for plan B.

Dean rechecks his ammunition, and frowns. The gun he's carrying is not the colt-handle-beauty Bobby gave him when he graduated from the academy (Dean hates that he lost it the night he was kidnapped) but in Dean's hands, it will be just as deadly. Satisfied, he tucks it back into his waistband, turns for the exit, but unexpected movement from a far off monitor draws his attention, and he rushes to investigate.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asks out loud, watching with growing interest as a woman walks into view, stops in front of a bedroom door (the men guarding that particular door shoot to attention the moment they spot her) unlocks it, then disappears inside. 

"Bingo." Dean grins, knowing without a doubt, that Castiel is behind _that_ closed door. 

...

"W, wait!" Crowley sputters, scooting away from Sam. But Gabriel grabs him by the collar, and hauls the coward to his feet. "One shout from me," Crowley hisses, trying to be intimidating, but with his nose bleeding and his toes barely touching the floor, fails miserably, "and a dozen armed men will-"

"Will what?" Sam snarls, rolling up his sleeves while Gabriel keeps Crowley from running. "Well?" 

"Sammy asked you a question, Fergus."

Gabriel gives Crowley a good shake, and Sam smiles, but his eyes are cold and his fists are clenched, and Crowley shudders, then starts screaming. But a ferocious right-hook from Sam silences him, and Gabriel hoots. 

"Woo-hoo!" Gabriel cries out; he's never had so much fun. "First Sammy's gonna punch every tooth from your mouth,” he laughs, “then I'm gonna watch him gut you. Although," he pauses, snorting, "I’m pretty sure you were born gutless, and spineless, and a complete coward-"

"Freeze!" 

A gun shot from the door, and Gabriel drops Crowley.

"Sam!" Gabriel shouts, pushing Sam out of harm's way. But then another bullet rings out, and the intended target, crumbles to the floor.

...

Dean winds his way deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, turning corner after corner, climbing level after level, and with each step, draws closer to Castiel. But in spite of the booming thunder and the crackling lightening, Dean clearly hears hushed murmuring up ahead.

It won't do to get caught now (or ever) but Castiel needs him. So with his gun raised, and his finger on the trigger, Dean rounds the corner, and his jaw drops. 

... 

A hard shove from Sam, and Gabriel hits the ground. "Stay down!" Sam shouts, shooting the first guard, taking aim on the second, but Benny strikes the man over the head with a vase, and he collapses, unconscious, but still alive.

"Nice." Gabriel whistles, walking over to the downed man, pressing his heel against his throat, and breaking his neck.

"Was that necessary-" 

"It's them or us." Sam growls at Benny, tucking his gun away, then grabbing Crowley by the arm and pushing him towards the door. "Take us to Castiel." 

"Pardon?"

A hard slap across the face, and Crowley's head snaps to the side. "Those two," Sam points to the dead men, "were taking Benny to Castiel. But they brought him to you instead. I'm guessing that's because you know where he is."

Crowley shrugs, "Well, no, not necessarily. Yes, I did call Dr. Lafitte, but it's for my hounds. They've been feeling out of...sorts-"

Another hard slap, and Crowley curses. 

"Bloody-hell!" He snaps back, defiant despite the bloody spittle dripping from his torn lip. Crowley spits, clears his throat. "Alright," he sneers, aiming a smug smile at Gabriel, "I'll take you to him, but" he warns, teeth a bloody mess, "you're not going to like what you'll find."

...

"Agent Winchester!" 

"You gotta be shitting me." Dean says, head shaking in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the very same question." Rowena counters, smiling, happy to see him. "But then again," she says, eyes raking over Dean's body, "I never should have doubted you'd somehow...survive." 

"Whatever." Dean says flatly, frowning at Rowena, and in no mood to decipher her obscure comments or be the subject of her scrutiny. "He gonna die?" He asks instead, pointing to the convulsing man at her feet.

Rowena looks down at the guard, shrugs, "Not unless I administer the antidote within," she checks her watch, announces, "thirty seconds." Then one last rattling croak (foam spilling from between blue lips, fingers clawing at a swollen throat) and the guard dies. "Oops. Too late."

Dean glares at her with blatant contempt, with pure loathing, but she can still be useful to him, maybe even valuable. "Get a move on." He tells her, pointing to the corridor.

"Get a move on to where?" She asks, hands on her waist.

"To wherever the hell they're keeping Cas. I'm trading you in for him." 

Rowena chuckles, and turns in the opposite direction. "After what happened to Meg? No thanks. I'm escaping this death-trap as fast as-"

"Meg is here?" 

"Yes." Rowena replies, walking further away. "Or more accurately, the bits the dogs haven't already digested."

Dean grimaces at the mental image, but then snorts; he was no fan of Meg's. "Couldn't have happened to a scummier person." 

"Such ingratitude for _the_ person responsible for your escape."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Look," he exhales, "I don't have time to argue with you over shit that doesn't matter anymore. But for your information, the person responsible for my escape, was Cas. He came for me. He beat the crap out of that psycho Abbadon, and got me the hell out of there. Meg had nothing to do with it." 

"On the contrary," Rowena says, "you're escape was possible only because Meg convinced her sister to betray me...and protect you." 

Dean's mouth snaps shut at that, and Rowena tuts, "You didn't know?" She wags her finger at Dean, explains, "Well, for your information, Meg asked her sister, with whom she had been, for lack of a better word, feuding, to help her, help you. Obviously it didn't turn out to well for Ruby. But for Meg, the consequences were catastrophic-"

"Stop." Dean shakes his head, tries to wrap his brain around Rowena's revelation: Meg and Ruby, their relationship, their double-dealings, and why the hell would either of them ever agree to help him? "Just...get moving." 

Rowena looks at Dean as if he's lost his mind. "It's a fool's errand." She tells him. "There's nothing left of Castiel to rescue."

"Move-" Dean grits, pressing the barrel of his gun between her eyes. 

"Very well." Rowena sighs. "But don't say I didn't warn you. That way," she says, pointing down the hallway, eyes wide and full of fear, "lies our enemy, and our death."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How many coming?" Gabriel asks, but the number doesn't matter, as far as he's concerned, they're ending this shit tonight, one way, or another. He looks over at Sam, sees blood in his eyes, and knows without a doubt, that Sam feels the same way too.

Sam waves his hand at yet another mounted camera, and Crowley scoffs, mocks, "Are you seriously that eager to get yourself killed? And just who the bloody hell are you waving-"

"Keep moving." Sam orders, twisting Crowley's arm at a painful angle.

"Fine," Crowley grits, shuffling awkwardly while trying to keep pace with Sam's longer stride. "But I was only following orders."

Sam wrenches Crowley's arm further back and Crowley cries out. "Stop talking." Sam sneers, shoving Crowley so hard, he trips. "Just take us to where they're keeping Castiel."

"I, I will." Crowley sputters. "But you've got it all wrong about me. I'm just a tool." He swears, because that's all he's ever been - first for Charles, and now for Amara. "I was just following orders. She would have killed me too if I hadn't. Amara is insane-"

"Wait-" Gabriel tears Crowley from Sam's grasp, slams him hard against the wall, and asks, "What did you say?"

"That, that I was just following orders-"

"No!" Gabriel snaps, choking Crowley. "That name. What was it?" Crowley claws at Gabriel, and Gabriel lets go. "Answer!"

"Amara," Crowley coughs, gently massaging his bruised throat while staring down the barrel of a gun, "Amara Cain is in charge here." He nods to Sam, tells him, "She ordered the hit on your parents." Then to Gabriel, "And orchestrated your brother's kidnapping." Crowley swallows, winces, stares at his hands. "And she's also responsible for...Charles' murder."

"That's not possible." Gabriel says, taking a step back. "She died in a plane crash over the Atlantic. The whole family died. Her husband, her kid-"

"She and Gadreel were never on that plane."

"You're lying." Gabriel hisses, cocking his gun, "They found three bodies. It was on the news. Dad even had a service for them." He pauses, looks to Sam, eyes wide, as if pleading, "Dad even cried."

Sam places his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, a warm and comforting weight. "Come on." Sam says, gentle and kind, exactly what Gabriel needs. "Let's go find Castiel."

"Come on." Benny tells Crowley, crouching next to the bloodied man and giving him a quick once over. "On your feet."

Benny helps Crowley stand, then Gabriel grabs him by the arm. "Which way?" He asks, pointing to the fork in the corridor.

"Which what?"

"Left or right?" Gabriel growls, fingers digging into the soft muscle of Crowley's bicep.

"Right." Crowley growls back, stumbling when Gabriel shoves him.

They go right, walk past an unguarded door, and Crowley halts. "Its the next one." He whispers to Gabriel, and Gabriel, nods, tugs him along, but Crowley refuses to budge.

"Walk, or I'll make you walk."

"Listen," Crowley spits, holding fast, "I know you want to rescue your brother, but your setting yourselves up for a suicide mission. Amara has dozens of guards every where, and they'll shoot you first and-"

"Correction," Sam smiles, winking at Gabriel, "they'll shoot you first."

Gabriel snorts laughter at that, but then stops, points down the hall, and Sam nods in understanding (gun held firm against his chest) ready to pounce on Gabriel's signal.

"Don't do it-" Crowley hisses at them, trying to pull free from Gabriel's grip.

But it's to late.

A loud clap of thunder, an angry rumbling from the sky, and then a gunshot.

"Stay here!" Gabriel shouts to Benny, handing Crowley over, rounding the bend, and rushing after Sam.

But Benny is no coward, and even though this is not his fight, he grabs on tight, covers Crowley as best as he can, and joins Sam and Gabriel, in their battle.

...

Rowena tries to lead Dean down the wrong corridor (away from danger, away from Castiel) but fails, because Dean already knows the way.

"Take the next right." Dean instructs, nuzzle pressed hard against Rowena's back, nudging her forward.

"No need to push." She complains, but then Dean yanks her back, and Rowena gasps, "Wha-"

"Shut up." Dean hisses, listening, listening, and then he hears it again: gunfire.

'Cas...'

A battle is waging where Castiel is being kept, and Dean's heart drops. "On three." He whispers, and again Rowena looks at him as if he's lost his mind.

"On three what?" She hisses. "If you think I'm voluntarily running towards danger laddie, then you've got another thing-"

"I think you're doing exactly as I say." Dean grins back, gun aimed between Rowena's brows.

"Do that," Rowena snorts, unafraid, "and you'll have them after us in seconds flat."

She turns to retreat, but Dean pulls her back, spins her around, and forces her onward: towards the fight, towards gunfire, and most probably, towards their doom.

...

Another guard goes down (blood oozing from a gunshot wound between his eyes) and they're out of bullets.

But they're still lethal.

They plow through every man blocking their path, wipe out those shielding Castiel's door, and with their fists flying and their daggers stabbing, Sam, Benny, and Gabriel, reign victorious.

"Knock." Sam hisses at Crowley, yanking him from the corner where he was cowering.

Crowley grunts, then reluctantly does as he's told. He taps, taps, taps, on Castiel's door, announces himself a couple of times, but then a siren blares, and he wrenches free from Sam's grip.

Caught off guard, Sam watches Crowley flee, considers chasing after him for a split second, but then Gabriel is by his side, and Sam readies for the next fight.

"How many coming?" Gabriel asks, but the number doesn't matter, as far as he's concerned, they're ending this shit tonight, one way, or another. He looks over at Sam, sees blood in his eyes, and knows without a doubt, that Sam feels the same way too.

Siren wailing, blade in hand, Sam listens as the slap, slap, slap, of running feet grows closer and closer. He raises his arm, waits, waits, waits, then swings wide. "Dean!" He cries out, narrowly missing his brother.

"There's more of those fuckers on the way." Dean shouts back, rounding the corner with Rowena in tow. He points to a corner, orders her to stay put, then joins his brother.

"No!" Gabriel tells Dean, nodding towards the door. "Go get Cassie!"

"Yeah-" Dean nods, turning for Castiel's door, reaching for the knob, but then gets brutally knocked out of the way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're still several feet apart, but even from a distance Dean can tell there's something seriously wrong with the assassin. From the slight tremor in his hands, to the uncharacteristic missteps in his stance (alarming signs of neurological deterioration for a killer of Castiel's caliber) it's obvious the Carfentanil has wrecked havoc on his system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get immeasurable joy from these characters, I really love them. And I hope you enjoy reading about their adventures as much as I enjoy writing about them.

It's 2am

A siren's wail, and the main door bursts open.

Amara's men spill in, one after another, after another, and Castiel fights and Castiel surges, disarming one, elbowing another in the face, shooting a third, but the men keep coming, and Castiel keeps fighting. 

_'Dean is dead.'_

He wields Amara's blade as if it were an extension of his arm: stabbing, impaling, eviscerating. And the men fall, and many lay dead, while others cling to life. 

_'Dean is dead.'_

All the while that painful mantra plays on an endless loop inside his poor aching head.

_'Dean is dead.'_

_'Dean is dead.'_

_'Dean is dead.'_

Over and over and over...

_'Dean is dead.'_

But his agony doesn't stop him, nor does it slow Castiel down. 

_'Dean. Is. Dead.'_

Adrenaline propels him onward, it counters the drug's sedattative effects and gives him the energy to keep fighting, even as the last traces of Carfentanil course through him like a poison. 

_'Dean...'_

But the drug's hallucinogenic effects are taking a toll on Castiel. They're badly warping his mind, skewing his perceptions, and now he's hearing voices.

_'Cas!'_

And despite his pain, his heartache, despite the futility of it all, Castiel keeps on fighting, because his body still knows what it has to do, even as his mind splinters. 

_'Dean...'_

Unflinching and merciless, Castiel spins, arms out, swinging in wide arcs, body upright or bent double, Castiel kills, Castiel flies, punching and kicking, a dance macabre, deaf to everything but the enemy's battle cries, spilling their blood his only goal, avenging his love, the only thing that drives him on. And it makes him lethal, this bloodlust, but it also staves his grief.

_'Cas!'_

Still, the voices grow stronger. _Dean's_ voice grows stronger, more insistent, calling to Castiel, shouting at him, blaming Castiel for his death, because Castiel failed him, and Castiel deserves to be haunted.

_'Cas, it's me!"_

Feverish, vision blurry, Castiel wraps himself in these phantom accusations and kills more men. Gritting and growling, he mingles his own voice with the thunder's rumble, his steel flashes like a lightening bolt, and he's fierce, mighty to behold, a magnificent beast taking down its prey, an avenging angel smiting the wicked. But his heart is in tatters, and his pain is unbearable, but it is what he deserves. 

"DAMMIT CAS!"

And there it is again, Dean's voice, so loud and so clear, so unrelenting that Castiel finally heeds its call, and turns around. 

Castiel looks for the source, expects to gaze upon Dean's specter, an ethereal whisp beckoning him, but instead locks eyes with _him_ , his one and only, and he blinks, and he swallows, because now he's certain, he's gone mad. 

...

Dean doesn't know what happened, only that it happened fast: a startled guard, a siren's wail, then scores of men appearing out of nowhere and chasing him towards Castiel's door. Finding Sam, Gabriel, and Benny already there was a welcome surprise, but being ordered to get Castiel instead of joining in the fight, an even greater relief; Dean can't get to Castiel fast enough. 

Dean fights his way through the door and immediately spots Castiel amidst the melee. 

"Cas!" He shouts, staggering at the level of carnage in the large bedroom, mouth gaping at the sheer horror Castiel must have suffered to kill so indiscriminately. 

"Cas!" 

A blow on the back, and Dean stumbles. But he quickly rights himself, throws off his attacker, and again, calls Castiel. 

But Castiel still doesn't hear him.

"Cas," Dean shouts again, desperate to get Castiel's attention, "it's me!" 

They're still several feet apart, but even from a distance Dean can tell there's something seriously wrong with the assassin. From the slight tremor in his hands, to the uncharacteristic missteps in his stance (alarming signs of neurological deterioration for a killer of Castiel's caliber) it's obvious the Carfentanil has wrecked havoc on his system. 

"DAMMIT CAS!" 

Arms raised, Dean reaches out, grasps at air, and the back of Castiel's neck prickles.  
"Cas!" 

This time Castiel freezes, whips around, and they lock eyes. 

"You're not real." Castiel mouths, eyes haunted, as if he were looking at a ghost. 

"What?" Dean says, stepping over the unconscious, the dead, and Castiel drops Amara's blade.

 _'I've lost my mind'_ Castiel thinks, because surely that's what this is.

"I'm-" Castiel swallows, his throat is so dry, "...forgive me..." He begs, blinking and blinking, but Dean doesn't vanish, he's solid and whole and achingly beautiful, and moves closer instead. "Dean-" Castiel whispers, staggering, then tripping over the fallen, and collapsing in Dean's arms.

"I got you." Dean tells him, soothing, comforting, pulling Castiel up and holding him tight against his chest. "Cas..." Dean says softly, pressing his lips against Castiel's temple, brushing sweat dampened bangs from his forehead, and he frowns, but his eyes are soft, and his touch is so, so, tender. "You're burning up." He says, cradling Castiel, and Castiel smiles, tips his head back, and Dean kisses his mouth.

And it's so sweet, and the kiss is so welcome - like a balm on Castiel's shattered nerves - that the fog that's been plaguing him since he woke, lifts from his mind.

"Are you...really here?" Castiel asks, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulders, then looking at him, really seeing Dean. "You are." He nods, chest tightening with emotion. "You-" Castiel takes a deep breathe, exhales, "You're alive."

"Yeah." Dean replies, frown deepening, but then Castiel beams, and Dean smiles back. 

"Never do that again." Castiel growls at him, claiming Dean's lips again, licking his way inside Dean's mouth, and Dean opens up, kisses Castiel with the same desperate intensity.

"Dean!" 

A call from the hallway, and Dean grudgingly breaks the kiss. "Busy!" He shouts back, arms still cradling his love. "Never do what, again?" He asks Castiel, wary, cautious, but he has to know.

Castiel sighs, takes Dean's face in both hands, and rasps, "Never..." A deep breath, a racing heart, "...never die again." 

But that just confuses Dean further. "Baby, I don't-"

"Guys-" Sam rushes into the room, spots Castiel and can't help but smile; the agent looks like crap, but he's alive, and that's what matters now. "We gotta go." He says to them, but then Gabriel and Benny run into the room, and slam the door shut.

"We got trouble!" Gabriel shouts, bracing the door with Benny's help. 

"How many?" Dean asks, shifting to block Castiel with his body. But then the door splinters from the oncoming impact, and the room explodes in a flurry of bullets. "Get down!" Dean warns, pushing Castiel out of the way. 

But Castiel dodges Dean, side steps, and now he's the one blocking. He grabs a nearby lamp and flings it, disarms two men with one blow, and Dean curses, but he takes his place by Castiel's side, and together, they fight the enemy.

"Dean!" Castiel wrenches an overlarge goon from Dean's back, tosses him onto an incoming group, and they all topple, crushed under his formidable weight. But the domino effect blocks the doorway, and now they're trapped.

"We'll never get out now!" Dean shouts, studying the room's windows.

"Yes we will!" Castiel says, taking Dean by the hand and steering towards Gadreel's unlocked door. "Sam, Gabriel!" He calls, opening the door, pushing Dean through it, then suddenly crying out, and dropping to his knees.

"Cas!" Dean cries, crouching by Castiel's side. "What is it?" He asks, running his hands over Castiel's body with great care. But then his hand brushes against _it_ , Amara's dagger bulging grotesquely from Castiel's thigh, and Dean curses again.

"What's going on?" Sam asks, looming protectively while Benny examines the damage.

"It's deep." Benny says, placing Dean's hand over the wound and applying pressure. He shakes his head, adds, "He's losing a lot of blood. We need to get him to a hospital." 

"Okay." Sam exhales, genuinely scared for the first time since this whole mess started. "l'll get a car-" He starts to say, but then a pitiful cry cuts him off, and he rushes to investigate. 

"Gabe-" Sam shouts, watching in horror as Gabriel strangles a corpse. But then the corpse convulses, and Sam scrambles. "Jesus-" he cries, pulling on Gabriel. "Come on Gabe, we have to get out of here." 

"Let me go!" Gabriel growls back, wrenching free from Sam's grip and relaunching himself at Amara. "Everything," He stresses, thumbs pressing cruelly against Amara's windpipe, "is her fault! She killed dad! She killed your parents! She almost killed Cassie!" Gabriel straddles her, chokes her, and Amara smiles up at him: mouth wet, teeth coated in blood. "We can't let her escape! We can't, we can't let her live-"

"We won't.” Castiel growls from behind, taking Dean's gun, firing a single bullet into Amara's forehead, and ending her wretched life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Did it feel abrupt? Promise it will are sense in the end.
> 
> I always agonize over pace, plot, and grammar, continuity, relevance, and so on and so on and so on. It's why it takes me an eternity to edit, then post, then write some more. Anyway, thanks for hanging in there with me and I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Two more installments coming, then that's that for this series. 
> 
> Whew!


End file.
